https://www.omekaclassic4.nhlibraries.org/files/original/bc672663106598c1e21336b6fdb73b66.pdf 6dee5c82b4e5403f112e507ead93e9ee Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour Subject The topic of the resource Troubadour Description An account of the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour was a publication of the State of New Hampshire's State Planning and Development Commission in Concord, NH from 1931-1950s. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource The State of New Hampshire Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The State of New Hampshire Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1930s-1950s Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource NHSL Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource State of New Hampshire Troubadour PDF files of the Troubadour OCR OCR of the Troubadour m, c31Te New Hampshire Troubadour June 1947Hie I lew tamp Shire _Sroubadour GOMES TO YOU EVERY MONTH SINGING THE PRAISES OF NEW HAMPSHIRE, A STATE WHOSE BEAUTY AND OPPORTUNITIES SHOULD TEMPT YOU TO COME AND SHARE THOSE GOOD THINGS THAT MAKE LIFE HERE SO DELIGHTFUL. IT IS SENT TO YOU BY THE STATE PLANNING AND DEVELOPMENT COMMISSION AT CONCORD, NEW HAMPSHIRE. FIFTY CENTS A YEAR From the October-Novcmber 1946 issue of Wings of Love, Charlestown, Mass., of which Rev. Cutler is editor and publisher Sometimes it seems as if on each successive vacation 1 did less and enjoyed it more. Last summer for instance I attempted no big peaks, nor visited anything new; yet each day in the usual mountain haunts afforded me fresh delight. The sounds and sights of each familiar scene came daily to me with an aroma exhilarating and different. The same birds sang from the same trees, and the accustomed blossoms gladdened the usual nooks, but somehow the quality of life in my quiet mountain existence seemed increasingly beautiful and significant. One of the charms that has meant the most to me on a vacation in the mountains has always been the sense of wildness, remoteness from civilization, and oneness with nature. At the age of eleven or so I used to camp out with a few others for days at a time in the untravelled forests east of First Connecticut Lake, fishing one or ANDREW M. HEATH, Editor VOLUME XVII June, 1 947 NUMBER 3 FRINGES OF WILDERNESSIKK M.SANFORD -'(iillumf Kruntta on l.nkv Massabrsic, Munrhrstrr another of the branches of the Diamond River. At that time there were parts of the northern woods that had not been cut except for the evergreens, and the hardwood growth was often a truly magnificent sight. One of my clearest memories from those wilderness journeyings is of the floor of the big woods deep in the damp shade, crisscrossed with decaying logs, each carpeted with lichens and moss and other green growth, as if a gardener were constantly tending it. The same delightful effect may sometimes be observed where our higher mountains are still crowned with unharvested trees, and the ground beneath them harbors every fallen tree trunk until the dampness from frequent low clouds has turned it into a deep bed of lowly green growth. During the summers from 1924 to 1941, I seldom missed an opportunity to spend two active weeks in the Appalachian Mountain Club’s peripatetic August Camp. In this way I was made acquainted with a number of little-known mountain regions, such as Grafton Notch in the Nlahoosuc Range, Webb Lake near the Rangeleys, and Kidney Pond west of Mt. Katahdin, all in Maine;and Bunnell Notch under the Pilot Range, the Wild River valley east of the Carters, and lower Crawford Notch, all in New Hampshire. For the last six years these more distant and arduous camping trips have been out of the question, but the edges of nature's great wilderness still impinge upon the outposts of civilization; and every spring and summer 1 have managed to get far enough away from railroads and shopping centers to listen in, as it were, on nature’s private doings. At all events, one of the great charms of an open-air vacation is that the expected almost never happens, and before very long, one is bound to meet the unexpected. One Sunday as I was walking back from church in Randolph, New Hampshire in my very best clothes, but by a path through the pasture two hundred yards from the road, I heard a slight snort just ahead of me among some low spruces; and I stood stock still, hardly breathing in my excitement. In a few moments a doe appeared from behind the nearest tree, looking alarmed but evidently not recognizing my motionless form. The breeze was blowing the wrong way for her to smell my presence, and the beautiful creature stood with raised head and large erect ears pointed my way, not fifty feet from me. She looked at me in a way that made it clear that her none-too-accurate eyesight failed completely to make anything of my appearance. In fact, after a long minute or two of staring now at me and now to one side, she lowered her graceful head and proceeded to browse on the pasture grass. I thought that she might come even closer to me; but instead she veered oil behind some little trees, and when I attempted to sneak a few steps toward her, she heard or sensed the disturbance instantly and vanished so swiftly and silently that I could not tell either where she had gone or whether a fawn had been with her. A few days before this encounter, one of the women at our hotel had been walking along down the road when she chanced to catchsight of a doe in the bushes before the doe saw her. She watched, keeping perfectly still, while the doe looked up and down the road, and then walked out of the woods and crossed to the other side. When the doe turned around and looked back, two small fawns bounded after her and quickly all three disappeared into the forest on the other side. Instances like this one are of course not common, and yet they are not so rare as the uninitiated might think. The reason that we do not all see more wild creatures out-of-doors is simply that most of the time we are too immersed in our own affairs to see what is going on around us, or too boisterous in our sociability to avoid scaring away the exceedingly shy denizens of the woods and farm lands. So I have been enjoying my vacations in the country more and more, although I may have been walking less and less, because I am gradually learning to approach nature more respectfully and with a minimum of preoccupation. COLDBROOK FALLS MEMORIAL RESERVATION T he Town of Randolph, New Hampshire, at its annual town meeting on March 11, 1947 voted to accept from Mr. and Mrs. John Boothman, the proprietors of the Mt. Crescent House in Randolph, and from the heirs of Louis Fayerweather Cutter, the offered gift of a small area along Coldbrook in Randolph which includes Coldbrook Falls and the Memorial Bridge to the early Randolph pathmakers. Coldbrook Falls is the most striking of the many falls on Coldbrook between the floor of King Ravine and the Randolph Valley. T he area is to be held by the town as a memorial forest reservation to be known as Coldbrook Falls Reservation in memory of the late Laban Morrill Watson and Anna Burbank.4 scenic spot in the netv Coldhrook Falls Memorial Reservation. RamliUph Watson, the parents of Mrs. Boothman, and of the late Louis Fayer- vveather Cutter and Mary Osgood Cutter of Salem, Massachusetts. The terms of the gift require that the reservation be kept by the town as closely as possible in its present natural state. It is to be held for the benefit of the inhabitants and summer residents of Randolph, and of visitors to the town. By the terms of the deeds, access to the reservation will be limited to footpaths. Mr. and Mrs. Watson were early members of the Appalachian Mountain Club. Mr. Watson established the Ravine House in Randolph about 75 years ago. This well known mountain inn was long the center of the pathmaking and mountain activity on the Northern Peaks of the Mt. Washington Range. Mr. and Mrs. Cutter were for sixty years summer visitors to Randolph. Mr. Cutter, over a long period, prepared the various Appalachian Mountain Club maps of the Northern Peaks and of the Mt. Washington Range, work on which he started in 1885 while a student at Massachusetts Institute of Technology.Uo-milr circuit roatT* in Jackson I portion of th*THE HILL-ROAD Lt iJ’io DinJt I wish that I might make you see A hill-road that is dear to me. It starts up from a lovely lane, And turns and winds and once again It comes out to an open space Where golden-rod and Queen Anne's lace Are blowing there with gentle grace. High mountains lie in distant view, And clouds are floating in the blue; While far below the river winds. Brushed in with curving, silvery lines. And farther on that road we found A secret spot — a hidden ground, Where many woodland plants abound, Wood-betony and sun-dew rare. And dainty ferns of maidenhair, Pyrola and gold-thread too. And partridge-berries peeking through Their dark-green leaves, with ruddy hue. And then to make our joy complete, Orchids growing at our feet. The breath of summer standing there, I.ike little ladies, sweet and fair. I wish that you might come and see Why this hill-road is dear to me. Note — The Orchid Family Orchidaceae is represented by a variety of species in New Hampshire, the Ladies Slippers being probably the best known. The orchid to which Miss Tirrell refers is the Nodding Pogonia Triphora trianthophora. Miss Tirrcll says that "the poem was born spontaneously” after a climb on Cass Hill. Westmoreland.— The EditorBERNICE B. PERRY Cathedral of the Pines at Rindge, detlicated to First l.t. Sanderson Sloane, overlooks a beautiful valley with A ft. Monadnock in the distance. The altar honors the Neu Hampshire dead of World War II, and the pulpit is dedicated to religious pioneers and to Rindge people who have served in uar. CATHEDRAL OF THE PINES h Jlrcli Wliiteli ouAe From The Churchman, as condensed in The Reader's Digest. Only a part of the article is reprinted here. It was a dark, fog-streaked day of December 1943 in Britain that I first met Sandy Sloane. After a precarious mission over Bremen,he sat there quiet and unseeing, a mug of coffee resting on his knee. “You’re going home?” he asked. “Yes,” I said. “To New Hampshire.” The change that came over him was startling. He sat up straight and his eyes glowed. “When you get back,” he said, “go see my father, Douglas Sloane of Rindge, New Hampshire. Tell him and Mom and my wife that I’m fine.” “Sure, I’ll tell them,” I said. “When you get home,” he said, “go up and see my knoll. Remember the hurricane of 1938? Well, my knoll used be guarded by giant pines and it was like walking into a great green cave. Then the big wind blew most of the trees down. “We felt so sick about it that we kept away for weeks. But finally Dad and I walked up one afternoon in late spring. The most beautiful view God ever put together stretched before us. The big trees had obscured it. The branches of the small ones that were left formed an emerald arch through which we looked out toward the whole Wachusett Divide. You should see it in the fall with the colors reflecting in the lakes. “When you see Dad,” Sandy went on, “tell him not to touch my knoll until I get back. One of these days I’m going to build something there. I don’t know what, but it will have to be something worth while. Maybe I shouldn’t even touch it, though,” he added solemnly. “It’s just like a cathedral.” It wasn’t until February that I called Sandy’s father in Rindge. Wouldn’t I come and have dinner with them one night? When I did, Mr. Sloane was in the thick of a Red Cross drive and it suddenly dawned on him that I could help him out — since I had recently returned from the battle front and particularly since I had seen Sandy in England. So we went to the village hall. Everyone was there.I gave them what I could, and concluded with what Sandy had told me about his knoll. Two days later came the stunning news of Sandy’s death. I rkturnkd to Europe for the Normandy invasion and could only imagine the weeks and months of anguish the Sloanes must have suffered. They can't remember how it actually started. But first a few branches were scraped aside to open the path. Rotting boughs were cleared away and rocks piled together for later removal. Without intent the rocks gradually took the form of a rectangular mound. The Sloanes remembered how Sandy had said, ‘‘It's just like a cathedral.” John and Douglas, Sandy's brothers, bought a rugged cross of New Hampshire granite. Seth Cleaves drove his blind horse up to the knoll and went to work. John Crosby, master mason, brought his tools. Men who had never attended church wandered up and looked on. Before they knew it they too were hauling rock. The Sloanes had intended only a modest memorial to Sandy, but as the shrine lx*gan to take form and an altar base was being cemented, it was apparent that there were other Sandys to be con- Front floor of thr old Phil pot House, Hollinsford. The house mis huilt in the late I600's.sidered. Mr. Sloane is president of the New Hampshire Society of the Sons of the American Revolution. To some of the members he expressed the hope that perhaps the Cathedral of the Pines might become a monument to the memory of others who gave their lives in World War II. A simple item suggesting this in the society’s publication brought a nation-wide response. Dozens of boxes and packages began to arrive in Rindge. From every state in the Union came rocks to be incorporated into this shrine. One stone was taken from a barn that had been used as an outpost at Valley Forge. There was a stone from the historic gorge through which Lewis and Clark first viewed the Rocky Mountains. Someone contributed a pebble from the grave of General Lafayette. There’s a stone from Washington's old Fort Necessity. It is strange how this chancel in the clouds attracts men. They walk up the hill and slowly approach the bowered entrance. One of them said, “This is my idea of a man’s religion.” By the summer of 1946 the Cathedral of the Pines had become known throughout the country and several pastors asked if they could hold services there. Benches were brought in, a small portable organ was hauled up and a village choir formed. The road to the shrine was improved, and a nearby field set aside for parking space. In a few weeks more than 10,000 people had visited Sandy’s knoll. The Sloanes realized that they should not attempt to handle all this alone; so a Cathedral Trust was formed to perpetuate the shrine. On Sunday, September 8, 1946, the Cathedral of the Pines was dedicated to the loving memory of First Lieutenant Sanderson Sloane before more than 1500 worshipers. The Altar of the Nation was offered as a memorial to the men and women of New Hampshire who gave their lives in World War II. The fieldstone pulpit was dedicated to the memory of the pioneers who blazed the trail of religious freedom and in gratitude to the men and women of Rindge who served their country in time of battle.Front Cover: Scene at Little Boar’s Head, North Hampton, on highway 1A. Color photo by Arthur Allen Peterson. Back Cover: New Hampshire Pastoral. Photo by Lilo Kaskcll. Frontispiece: Sketch by .John Pratt Whitman. The spot shown on this month's front cover was once a place where debris was left by the sea and by thoughtless people, so Mr. Peterson, who made the photograph, reports. Years ago Miss Mary Frost, who occupied one of the smaller houses opposite, was upon request given permission by the State of New Hampshire to make a garden there. Each year many motorists admire the garden as they pass it, then park their cars and walk back to enjoy the flowers and the whole beautiful scene at leisure. When, after the death of her parents, Miss Frost changed her residence, she sold her house to James Miller of Greenland, the gardener of Greenland whom she had employed to plant and supervise her garden, so that he might live there and care for the flowers. The work of Mr. Whitman, whose ^ pencil painting” is this month’s frontispiece, is on view during the summer season at his Forest Art Gallery at Tamworth, for visitors and picture hunters. He has exhibited at the Arden Galleries, New' York, and at many New England galleries, including the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. An exhibition of paintings by the late Alexander James, outstanding New Hampshire artist, is to be held at the Currier Gallery of Art, Manchester, July 15 to September 15, then at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, October 15 to November 15. To the Editor: As the author, many years ago, of some of the first research reports on community economic development, I speak with some degree of authority upon this subject, and 1 can assure you that my views coincide w'ith yours regarding the probability of an expanding economic development in the New' Hampshire of the immediate future. Dorsey IV. Hyde, Jr. Gilmanton. New HampshireNEW HA MPSHIRE BOOKS AND AUTHORS A paper on the traditional tall pines of New Hampshire, “The King’s Pines,” by Henry N. Andrews, Jr., who is associate professor at Washington University and assistant to the director of the Missouri Botanical Gardens, appears in the March 1947 issue of Historical New Hampshire, published by the New Hampshire Historical Society, Concord. The annual Craftsmen’s Fair of the League of New Hampshire Arts and Crafts is to be held at the League’s craft center in Franconia Notch, July 22 through 26. The New Hampshire Symphony Orchestra, a new professional organization w'hich has been working together since last November, had its debut on May 5 at Laconia in the first of a scries of five concerts in different sections of the state in May. Another scries of a “ Pop” nature is to be given in June. It is hoped that public interest will lie sufficient to assure the permanence of this new cultural asset for New Hampshire. Tavern Weavers, Inc., will open a private school at Gilmanton in June of this year for the purpose of teaching weaving, rug making, and old-time crafts to year-round and summer residents of New Hampshire, it was recently announced by Richard L. Small, president and active head of the school. An cfTort to promote the conservation of our New Hampshire green pastures, fields, farm lands, and forests, is being carried on in a “The Land — Our Heritage” program. Churches, Rotary Clubs, and other organizations are joining with agricultural and other conservation agencies to reach all New Hampshire citizens with the message of conservation. Governor Charles M. Dale called attention to “our duty to conserve these productive lands to the end that they may contribute to the well-being of all the people” in his proclamation for Conservation Week, June 1 to 7. The importance of New Hampshire’s land resources in our everyday life is being featured through newspapers, radio, posters, and window displays. The state Grange has declared a Conservation Month and the state’s milk dealers association is distributing 50,000 pamphlets.WARNER RIVER Wind, lovely stream, among the hills, and make A necklace for the little town to wear; Bluer than turquoise when the skies are fair; Heavy with moonstone: colorless, opaque When storm-clouds from their silver coffers shake The raindrops down; or when the sunsets flare Your opalescent crystal is so rare It seems of all the heaven’s hues to take. Wind, lovely stream, and let your purity Make glad the hearts that love your waterways, Till your least ripple is for good a call. Mirror the hills, that everyone may see Their beauty twice, then lift again in praise Of that which made the wonder of it all. RUMFORD PRESS CONCORD. N. H. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context 4677Troubadour194706 Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour June 1947 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource New Hampshire State Planning and Development Commission Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1947-06 Description An account of the resource The New Hampshrie Troubadour was a monthly publication of the New Hampshire State Planning and Development Commission. The magazine was printed between 1931 and 1951. Language A language of the resource eng Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant New Hampshire Provenance A statement of any changes in ownership and custody of the resource since its creation that are significant for its authenticity, integrity, and interpretation. The statement may include a description of any changes successive custodians made to the resource. New Hampshire State Library Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource No Copyright - United States Subject The topic of the resource Randolph, Coldbrook Falls Memorial Reservation, Cathedral of the Pines, Rindge Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Cathedral of the Pines Coldbrook Falls Memorial Reservation Randolph Rindge